


magic candlestick

by dCryptid



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: I still hate tags, I will always hate tags, M/M, Strangulation, fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:10:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4703891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dCryptid/pseuds/dCryptid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>when the digital imprint of a dead corporate tyrant decides that you're his new toy, you do not get any say in when playtime is over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	magic candlestick

**Author's Note:**

> I LOVE Tales, but this will probably be my only fanfiction contribution to it (unless some Extra Serious Shit happens in Episode 5, or I have a thought, the stars align just right, etc, etc). There is already plenty of meat for the grinder, and many people are having more original thoughts and producing better work with more mass appeal. I'm just over here with the standard "Holojack is a jerk and takes it out on Rhys" that has been hashed and rehashed a hundred times. boop de doop.
> 
> this fic is mostly overspill from my other work [not just under but inside your skin](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4378259) \- which is to say I literally wrote the last lines of that, hopped over to a new doc, and wrote all ~3k words of this in one shot because Jack Being Strangly was apparently not out of my system. SPOILERS.
> 
> Events more or less compliant with going directly to Old Haven in Episode 2, contingent on keeping Jack a secret from Vaughn (which is the way to go, in my opinion). Rhys is missing a shoe. Vaughn is my favorite tiny nerd. I will find a way to honor Loader Bot's name.

               Old Haven was, well… _uglier_ than Rhys had expected. Obviously this was Pandora, he hadn’t been expecting anything gorgeous, but you hear “Atlas” and you expect at least a little bit of style and class. Clean lines, bright whites, the works.

               But Old Haven was ugly, its utilitarian base scarred by the leavings of Pandora’s more uncouth inhabitants, and it was starting to show its age as well. There wasn’t a wall Rhys could see that wasn’t cracked or stained, and there were weird Pandoran plants and mosses growing from the moisture that pooled in the pitted streets.

               He slipped down from Loader Bot’s shoulder, and his unshod foot immediately ended up in a slimy, moss-filled puddle. Ugh. Favorite socks, officially ruined.

               He looked over at Vaughn. The little guy’s face bore an expression of disgust as well, and he pushed his glasses back up the wrinkled bridge of his nose as Rhys watched. He had a lot of nose, and it was very expressive.

               “So this is the place, huh?” Vaughn asked, side-eyeing Rhys. “It, uh, doesn’t really look like much.”

               Rhys snorted. “That’s pretty standard for Pandora, as far as I can tell.” He bit his lip, scanning the area, but nothing popped out at him. “There’s gotta be a sign, or a switch or something around here somewhere, right? We’ll just have to find it.”

               Vaughn rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Rhys, this isn’t a cartoon. You don’t just pull the candlestick, or whatever, and open the secret door.”

               “Shut up,” Rhys huffed. “I’m gonna go take a look around. You stay here, with Loader Bot.”

               “Um, I can help look for your magic candlestick too, you know.”

               “ _Stay with Loader Bot_ ,” Rhys said firmly. “Just…do it for me, okay?”

               Vaughn looked at him curiously, but eventually held his hands up in defeat. “Alright, fine. I will stay here with the robot. Doing nothing.”

               “ _Thank_ you,” Rhys said, just a little sarcastically. “I’m gonna go that way. Yell if you need me.” He strode off down the road he’d pointed at, wet sock squishing with every step.

               The rest of Old Haven looked pretty much exactly the same – sad and gross. It was all cracked concrete and alien plants, and it honestly smelled more than a little bit like feet. He’d only been looking around a for a few minutes, but already felt thoroughly disheartened. What few signs there were had been heavily grafittied, and, it didn’t look like there was any power running through the place at all.

He took a side street, wandering down the narrow passage between two buildings, looking for a conspicuous lever or button. There had to be something, right? A main power junction, a control room, anything that might give him a clue.

               He glanced back over his shoulder, checking to make sure that Vaughn hadn’t followed him. Didn’t mean he hadn’t wandered off somewhere by himself, but at least Loader Bot was around to keep him safe.

               “You sure have a soft spot for the little guy, dontcha?” said a voice in his ear, and Rhys bit his tongue to keep from yelping in surprise as he jumped to the right, away from the voice. His foot wound up in _another_ puddle. Great.

               It was just Jack – even though “just Jack” was a bit diminishing. Having the digital spirit of a dead tyrant knocking around in your head and whispering in your ear was nothing to make light of. There was a big, smug grin on his (absurdly good-looking) face, and his outline flickered and stuttered, staticky and unstable.

               “Could you _not_?” Rhys hissed, trying to keep his voice down. He wasn’t sure if Vaughn was out of earshot. “I’m trying to do stuff here.”

               Jack’s grin grew wider, more dangerous. “Real important stuff, I’m sure. But I’m gonna do exactly what I want, pumpkin, and you can’t stop me.”  Rhys scowled and began walking away, and Jack followed just a step behind.

               “But seriously. You’re awfully protective of your weird little friend, there.” Jack chuckled. “Wanna explain that to me?”

               Rhys groaned, covering his ECHOeye with his fleshed hand. Jack’s projection disappeared from his field of view. “Please go away,” he moaned. “Literally the last thing I want to do right now is talk to you.”

               He could block Jack visually, but the AI still had access to Rhys’s aural circuits. “Deal with it,” Jack hissed in his ear, intimately, and Rhys winced away. Jack’s feedback-tinged voice always came through in surround sound, and sometimes he could make himself sound like he was _way_ too close for comfort.

               “Will you shut up if I tell you?”

               “No promises.”

               Rhys stopped walking, still covering his cybernetic eye: wouldn’t do him much good if he walked right past the magic candlestick because he was only using part of his sight. “I’ve already almost lost him too many times, okay?” he said. “He’s my best friend. I just want him to be safe, cause I don’t know what I’d do without him.” The words were heavy on his tongue; even half-truths could be a burden.

               Jack’s chuckle sounded like it was right inside his head. “You sure that’s all? I mean, little guy is buff, and not stupid. He could probably take care of himself just fine. But you gotta be all macho-man, in charge, looking out for him…” His voice dropped an octave, becoming hoarse, overlaid with just the faintest whine of digital interference. “It’s kinda cute.”

               Rhys jerked his head away from where Jack’s voice sounded like it was coming from – it wouldn’t do any good, but it made him feel better. “I do not need you patronizing me for caring about someone that isn’t myself, asshole,” he growled.

               A tingle of electricity ran down his robotic arm, and the sudden fear that hit him almost made him double over, like he’d been punched in the chest. That could _not_ be good; it felt wrong, all wrong, like the limb was falling asleep and waking up all at once, pins and needles and static making the muscles in his shoulder spasm.

               His robotic hand clenched into a fist, against his will, and now he knew it was bad. “No no no no no,” he muttered, trying to wrest back control, fighting the invading presence that was taking control of his arm. The index finger of his fleshed hand, still covering his ECHOeye, brushed against the port in his temple, and the sudden shock of bioelectric feedback was enough to make him lose the battle.

               Rhys’s robotic fingers curled and stretched, one by one – though they weren’t _his_ fingers anymore – and before he could react the hand darted up, grabbing his opposite wrist hard enough to make him yelp in pain as the strong metal fingers cut into the soft skin.

               “Do _not_ call me an asshole, asshole,” Jack’s voice snarled, and Rhys’s robotic arm pulled his hand away from his cybernetic eye hard enough to make him lose his balance.

               He fell to one knee – not into a puddle this time, thank the almighty robot policeman – and looked up, his organic wrist still trapped by his robotic fingers. Jack was standing over him, the expression on his face a mixture of rage and amusement.

               “Well, isn’t this fun,” he purred, and Rhys grimaced as his robotic hand twisted his arm. He fought it, but was no match for the strength of the artificial limb, and Jack’s control on it was unbreakable. He struggled back to his feet, fleshed arm pinned to his side.

               “You’re going to look at me, Rhysie,” Jack said, “and we’re going to have a civil discussion, okay? No name-calling, no bullshit, because I’m the one who has to live in your head, and I don’t want to have to muck around in all your weird, gay feelings. Like this-“ and Rhys felt a sudden warmth bloom in his chest, like the sun rising, like hot coffee on a cold day. “What the fuck is that?”

               Rhys knew what it was, but he wasn’t about to tell Jack. “You’re the one inside my head, figure it out for yourself,” he spat, fleshed arm trembling as he continued to try to pull it free, caught up in the sensation that Jack had artificially induced and the genuine anger he was feeling. Prior to Pandora, Rhys would have never thought of himself as stubborn – strong-willed, maybe, determined, intent – but the short time he had spent on this planet had already changed him. He was not going to bow down to Jack without a fight, not when the battleground was his own mind.

               Jack’s digital outline shuddered erratically, like it was reacting to the swell of his anger. “I do _not_ play games, Rhys,” he snarled, and when he slapped at Rhys’s face his robotic arm moved too, smacking him across the jaw with enough force to break the skin. It hurt so bad that Rhys actually forgot to cry out – a good thing, too, because Vaughn was still nearby, and he did not want his friend witnessing this.

               “Bite me,” Rhys choked, bringing the hand still under his control up to his face, feeling the warm dampness of blood on his fingertips.

               Jack’s eyes flashed a bright yellow, just for a moment, and he lunged. Rhys flinched away on reflex – he knew the projection couldn’t touch him, but it didn’t make it any less terrifying – but when he felt his robotic hand close around his own throat he realized that he was well and truly fucked.

               He wheezed as his air supply was cut off, scrabbling at the cold metal digits around his neck with his bloodied fingers. Jack was looming over him – had he always been so tall? – arms forward like he had his own luminous blue hands wrapped around Rhys’s throat. The corners of his mouth were pulled up, half furious, half delighted.

               “This is what happens to people that fuck with me, Rhys,” he said, smooth voice only slightly colored with anger. “This is what happens to people that do not – give me – what I – want!” With every pause the grip on Rhys’s neck grew tighter, and his knees started to go weak as his vision blurred and darkened, his organic eye losing focus as his cybernetic one struggled to transmit accurate signals to his oxygen-deprived brain.

               His knees buckled, and Jack rode him down, straddling his hips as he fell to his knees, then over onto his back, fighting to stay conscious. He kicked his legs out weakly, but Jack wasn’t really there, couldn’t be pushed away – he was nothing more than a prickle of electricity against his thighs, static buzzing under his chin.

               The pressure on his neck loosened, just a little, and he struggled to suck in a breath. “Can’t have you passing out,” Jack said. “Pretty sure that means I go back to being trapped inside the shittiest, darkest part of your head.” He grinned, eyebrows arching as his eyes narrowed. “Almost more fun this way, though. Means I get to punish you much more…extensively.”

               Rhys drew another breath, meaning to scream for Vaughn on the exhale – he didn’t care if his friend saw this, anymore. He couldn’t fight off Jack alone, and Vaughn was the only one around who might be able to help him. But before he could cry out, the hand on his throat tightened again, and he could let out nothing more than a cracked squeak.

               “I like this robo-hand,” Jack said. “Good for strangling. Would be better if I had two, though – and if they were mine.” His projection was sitting in Rhys’s lap, or at least it looked that way, a few glimmering pixels clipping through Rhys’s thighs where they would have otherwise touched.

               Rhys stopped squirming, letting his fleshed hand fall limp at his side. It felt like he was lying in water, and the back of his vest was slowly getting soaked through – good thing it was already ruined, caked with skag blood and god knows what else. Jack had said he wouldn’t let him pass out, so he’d have to let him breathe again sooner or later, right? He struggled to stay calm as his vision darkened, the dusty blue of Pandora’s sky becoming more and more distant.

               “That’s all you can handle?” he heard Jack complain, and once again he found he could breathe, albeit shallowly. He took a couple of short, rapid breaths, trying to strain away while he had the air to do so, and Jack chuckled. “God, it’s been so _long_ since I’ve gotten to do this. Forgot how good it can be.” He rolled his shoulders, staring down at Rhys hungrily. “And I gotta say, kitten, you’re awful pretty when you struggle.”

               Rhys furrowed his brows at him. “Weren’t you literally just mocking me for my ‘weird, gay feelings?’” he wheezed, and instantly regretted his smart mouth when Jack’s digital face went totally feral.

               “There is a difference,” he snarled, tightening his grip again, “between getting all gooey and sunshiney over some weirdly buff little four-eyed nerd, and watching someone _die_.”

               Rhys suddenly realized that his dick was hard. He was about ninety percent sure it wasn’t because of him, unless it was some bizarre lizard-brain reaction to being on the verge of death. If it had been the real Jack straddling him, maybe in a nice hotel room somewhere, and sans the strangling, it would have been expected. But here, on the grimy ground in some ugly town on a fucked-up death trap of a planet, with his own robotic fingers wrapped around his throat and the projection of an insane AI hijacking his mind… It couldn’t be him. Which meant it had to be said insane AI, and that Jack’s link with Rhys’s body went far deeper than he’d thought.

               Jack laughed hoarsely and rocked his hips. Rhys gasped as the projection’s pixels sparked against the bulge in his pants. “You see, Rhys,” Jack hummed, “when you hold someone’s life in your hands, that’s the ultimate power. You get to say whether they get to experience pleasure or pain ever again, if they get to laugh, to cry, to breathe-” He loosened his grip, letting Rhys get in a single breath.

               “And when it’s intimate, like this, skin to skin, hand to throat…” He rocked his hips again and Rhys whimpered. It didn’t really feel like anything, there was nothing there to feel, but his body was interpreting Jack’s existence and filling in the blanks. “There’s something exceptionally stimulating about it. It’s primal, physical. And that’s why your thoughts are weird and gay, and this – this is power.” Jack narrowed his eyes, and Rhys felt a sudden thrill wash through his body – ecstasy, triumph, threads of burning arousal. “Power is sexy. Power is everything. Power means that I get to kill you, and come on your corpse. Power means _I win._ ”

               Rhys struggled against the hand on his neck, the pressure in his pants becoming too much to handle between Jack’s presence and the sensations he was forcing into him. It was all wrong, all alien, but it was making him desperate, driving him towards the edge despite the almost total lack of physical stimulation.

               Jack leaned back, and Rhys’s head followed, the fingers digging into his throat drawing him up so that his head lifted off the ground. “Had enough yet, pumpkin?” Jack purred. “Or could you handle a little bit more?”

               Rhys opened his mouth, but he didn’t have any air left to answer, and didn’t know what his answer would have been if he did have the breath to give one. Jack’s expression was twisted, murky, eyes flickering back and forth between electric blue and luminous yellow, and he pushed Rhys back down to the ground.

               The back of his skull cracked against the concrete, hard, and he cried out. His cybernetic hand went limp, and when he opened his eyes, wheezing, Jack was nowhere to be seen.

               Carefully, he flexed his robotic fingers, touched his throat with his fleshed hand. It was hot and swollen to the touch, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he had a lovely ring of bruises later. That was going to be hell to explain to Vaughn. He propped himself up on his elbows – his back was soaked, and it felt slimy, ew – and when he looked down at his feet he noticed that his dick was, for some inexplicable reason, still rock hard.

               He sighed, and winced as the air passed through his abused trachea. He was lightheaded, far too dizzy to stand, so he laid back down, casting his dick a hateful glare as he did so.

               “Magic fucking candlestick, my ass,” he muttered, and closed his eyes and breathed.

              

**Author's Note:**

> (the magic candlestick is his dick)


End file.
